


Three o' Five

by artificial-id (mikkz)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Alternative Universe - Earth is Gone, Angst, Character Study, Happy ending (?), M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, mentions of other characters but not really?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 10:38:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8140925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkz/pseuds/artificial-id
Summary: Keith's an enigma best left unsolved.  Lance decided that a long time ago.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noririna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noririna/gifts).



It occurs to Lance at three o’ five in the morning with shoulders slumped over his fifth glass that he fucked up.  It’s not per say the first time he’s realised this; he realises it almost every morning when he looks in the mirror, puke on his tongue and his face the embodiment of a hangover’s symptoms, that he probably fucked up somewhere along the way but this time, for whatever reason, it really hits home.

Maybe it’s the fact he’s on his fifth alien equivalent to beer and he’s always been a miserable, overthinking drunk, or maybe it’s because it’s late and the bar’s empty spare for three humanoids and something that isn’t quite so, or maybe it’s because he’s nearing thirty and despite being a so-called hero and saviour of the universe, he can’t even stay sober for a week.

Maybe it’s because he’s lonely.

They never should’ve disbanded; that was probably the first mistake.   Though, Lance thinks, they had to—there was nowhere for Voltron to go or be at the end of the war; its very presence was more a threat than a guarantee to safety.  It was only natural for the public to worry about someone going rogue and spiking another ten thousand year war.   It was for the good of everyone, themselves included (from a psychological point of view) that Voltron disband and be locked deep within the Altean castle for the indefinite future. 

But why, pray _why_ that had to be the end of _Team_ Voltron Lance just didn’t know.  They all had things they wanted to do after the war finished—Hunk wanted to live with Shay, campaign for Balmera rights and start a family, Pidge just wanted to be with her family (oh didn’t they all?) and Keith…  

Keith’s an enigma best left unsolved.  Lance decided that a long time ago.    

For a while, they kept in contact.  Allura had let Lance stay at the castle since he had no place to stay, and Hunk would come by every few weeks or so to introduce his new alien friends, or Pidge would drop by with her family during their escapades around the cosmos, show off a new gadget, throw some playful insults and be off again.  But on the days that no-one came to visit, the castle was all too big and all too lonely; Allura and Coran were too busy trying to install new governments on the planets that’d been leaderless for thousands of years to pay attention to him, after all.

So, Lance left.   He took a pod, aimed it at the closest populated and friendly planet, and didn’t look back.   Arguably, that may’ve been the Big Mistake; but what was he supposed to do?  Spend the rest of his days burdening everyone?  Sulk and mourn over his family?  He had to move on, and staying in the place that’d been the centre of his universe the entire duration of the war wasn’t the way to do it.

He’d made it his mission within the first few days of his departure that he’d find all surviving humans and reunite them.   He had this childish fantasy that he’d somehow find a human girl about his age, one that was the epitome of attractive, and have his way with her over and over… for the purpose of reviving the human race of course.   He laughs at the thought of it sometimes.  

So far, his life has been a series of drunken nights, one-night stands with creatures he can’t name the genitals of and an increasingly alarming amount of existential crises— _is this really his fate?  Did he really save the universe for this?  Would everything have been better if he’d gone back to Earth when he had the chance and simply spent the rest of his days with his family and loved ones?_ —and a couple of close calls with the planet’s police for breaking laws he didn’t even know existed.   Not exactly the fairy-tale ending he wanted.

The lights flicker and the radio crackles onto a familiar tune in an alien language, and Lance finds himself staring down at the counter top through an empty glass.   Five is probably his limit if he doesn’t want to pass out and have his shit stolen, so he tosses a couple of gipees onto the counter top as a tip, waves to the bartender and stumbles out of the bar.

The warm night assaults Lance’s senses the moment he steps out the door.  Bulbous street lamps hang low in the sky, murmuring in their sleep and flickering as their consciousness fades.   The sky’s bright, brighter than it should be during any planet’s night, twinkling with thousands of distant flaming gas balls and the flashing disco lights of space ships, occasionally dipping into the atmosphere.   Lance would love this planet if it weren’t for the overwhelming smell of butter the surface gives off during sunrise.

He makes his way into the carpark, devoid of vehicles besides a couple of hover boards, a dinky car and Lance’s pride and joy, the S.S. Varadero.

The S.S. Varadero had started off as a means for Lance to get from planet to planet without having to spend a fortune taking the shuttle.  It was a shoddy piece of junk he’d bought second-hand from a man on a desert planet for a dozen or so trexucs.  He’d fixed it up to the best of his abilities, thankful for the days he spent letting Hunk bend his ear about engines and particle dusters, and had found it sailed quite smoothly once it got past the smell of burning eggs and horrible screeching it made when entering and exiting the atmosphere.    But Lance didn’t love her for her flying prowess or for the fact he’d fixed her so many times she was practically made entirely of bought parts, no; Lance loved her for what was inside, cheesy as it might seem. 

Over the days, months and years he’d spent living solo among the stars, he’d refurbished it completely, complete with a dinky fold-out bed, a device closest reminiscent of a microwave, and metal shelves from the ceiling to floor, stacked with boxes full of Earth Things and Human Stuff. 

Lance had a lot of keepsakes; some might even call him a hoarder.   He had everything, from seemingly useless plastic sporks to vinyl discs he couldn’t even play; he even had an entire box dedicated solely to Rubik’s cubes.   Aliens really liked their Rubik’s cubes.   But of everything he’d collected and stored over the years, of the millions of things with untold value, Lance’s favourite was a single worn cassette tape.  

He’d found it quite by chance at a bazaar and bought it for almost nothing, which was odd, since human music usually went for a lot.  It was on his first play through of it than Lance realised that the tape wasn’t music; it was two young girls pretending to be radio hosts, coming up with fake news segments and talking about daily events that’d happened at their school.  Sometimes, they’d even throw in a couple of Britney Spears’ tunes between their talking, or come up with an inventive advert for moisturiser. 

He played it weekly. 

Sure, he knew exactly was going to happen—he knew it even in his drunken state as he fiddled with the tape recorder and tried to distinguish the play button from the stop button—but there was something about it, about the way they talked about the most mundane, menial things like they were soul-crushing, that made Lance feel…

Feel like he wasn’t one of the last six or so humans left in the universe.

He’s barely managing to keep his eyes open as he hits play and falls face-first onto his bed that creaks and complains in protest.  The tape crackles to life with static and he breathes in, the familiar scent of alien rodent piss burning his nose.

 “— _n other news, Barry and Daisy have broken up after being the school’s hottest couple for two months!  What’s your take on this, Emily?_ ”

The words blur into an incoherent mess, but Lance finds comfort in it anyway.   He rolls onto his back, training his eyes at the ceiling as his hair falls into his face.  It’s getting long; his mother would tell him to cut it soon.

His mind wanders nowhere, and he lets his eyes flutter closed.   A song’s playing.

He dares to let himself wonder where everyone else is, how they’re doing.   It’s a forbidden line he’s always told himself not to cross, because it never ends well, but he’s drunk, and if memory—or lack thereof—tells him anything, it’s that he won’t remember any of it in the morning.   So he’ll let himself be sad, just for now.

Hunk’s probably got a family by now—adopted, probably.  He was always big on adopting, giving less privileged kids a place in the world.  Pidge definitely has a family, _their_ family; he wonders how many planets they’ve diplomatically conquered now.  

Keith’s…  Lance’s eyebrows furrow.   Is Keith still alive?   It’s sort of the elephant in the room.  He doesn’t know where Keith is; nobody does.   He left without so much as saying goodbye the moment he got wind that Voltron wasn’t needed—he wasn’t even present for the big parade they finally had in their name.  

He isn’t sure if Keith even wants to be alive anymore.  Actually, Keith hadn’t really seemed too keen on the whole living thing for a long time; not since Shiro…

Ah.  Right, how could he forget?  Lance laughs to himself as he rolls onto his side, images of Keith and Shiro and Shiro and Keith smiling at each other, looking tenderly at each other, filling his head.   Love was a funny, funny thing; damned cruel, too.  

They had moments too, right?   Moments where they laughed and didn’t hate each other, moments where Lance actually dared to think, years after kissing his chances of going home goodbye, he might make a home elsewhere. 

Moments where he thought he wouldn’t be alone anymore. 

Yes, he thinks wistfully, I’m going to blame _Keith_.   Keith, who so selfishly left without saying goodbye, Keith, who led him along for so long only to never give back, Keith, whose stupid mullet made Lance’s heart beat ridiculously fast whenever he saw a humanoid with one.   Stupid, selfish Keith.

“ _—he really never should’ve let her go.   He’s sort of pathetic without her, y’know?_ ”

Stupid, selfish Lance.

**Author's Note:**

> comme yell at me on twitter @lcumakun


End file.
